The truth was impossible, indecent. . " "Aye," said McClintock, in a tone so peculiar that it sent Spurlock's glance to his plate. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. A few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother was immured. She felt him as something solid and strong and trustworthy beyond measure. She seemed to grow more beautiful to him and not the opposite. The carpenter well knew from the obstacle which had interfered with his own progress, that the unknown could not have passed through the same lock as himself.
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